The Associate
by Atheniandream
Summary: Summary: To add to the strain with everything else going on, Harvey Specter is tasked with hiring a new Associate. He picks a human…who's also not even a Lawyer. AU/Future fic.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: To add to the strain with everything else going on, Harvey Specter is tasked with hiring a new Associate. He picks a human…who's also not even a Lawyer.

**Re-beta'd. Apologies on the hotmess grammer.**

* * *

Donna/Harvey and Other Pairings along the way. AU.

As mature as themes can get on here.

If you want a Soundtrack to the Opening, type 'DJ Fresh Dig this Vibe' in Youtube. Enjoy.

* * *

**_The Associate_**

By Atheniandream

* * *

"Good Evening Mister Specter," Says a guard; standing to attention as Harvey Specter saunters casually into the glass lobby of his apartment block; his hair slicked and shiny against the bright fluorescent lights as he swipes his entry card into the elevator console.

"Don't you mean 'morning'?" He looks at the guard with a sharpened smirk.

"Of course Sir; my apologies." The guard stiffens.

"Don't let it happen again." He says, his voice even; his brown eyes sharp but flat as he glares at the guard. "You run on _our_ time, remember that."

"Of course, Sir. Have a good day."

"I always do." He smirks, stepping in the entirely glass elevator.

The ride up is always too slow, too regulated to the dirge of human speed. He waits for the elevator to rise; a gradual view of his apartment appearing. The square footage is very large; with tinted wall to wall windows. He'd settled on UV tint as opposed to the Holographic imagery of the day; pointing out to the architect that there was no use in pretending that the sun wasn't there. A glass staircase divides the room in half, securing the mezzanine level. It's light and open and lavish in its sharp angular form and perfectly chosen artworks of Miro and Pollock amidst the contemporary furniture.

The elevator stops with a ding; its release smooth as the doors open. When he hears the muffled cries of someone withstanding pain and the smell of a vaguely-20 something year old, he rolls his eyes, tired of what the sound suggests and sets his briefcase down, turning into the nearest bathroom.

The light is glaring; the dust motes floating around the air-conditioned room distract him as he pouts into the mirror. He hasn't aged a day in forty-five; his slight frown line unchanging; the mole above his eyebrow still the same size as it always was. He squints, noticing that one of his contacts is askew. _It doesn't matter anyway_; as he leans forward, a hand going into the side cabinet to bring out a container. He flips the tiny plastic container open and pokes a finger into his eye, taking out the brown contact and placing it in the container; doing the same with the second before splashing his face with cold water. He's gotten used to wearing them over the years; a formality that's become a daily routine necessary for maintaining a mainstream path with the rest of the world. He remembers that he had dark brown eyes when he was younger; human and pliable; it only makes sense to maintain that sense of history, even if his history was re-edited decades ago. He stares into the mirror again; the white and blue glare of his pupils bending the light around them with iridescence; seeming to shimmer within the confines of a sharp blood-red line around the outside of the iris. He's not sure which way he prefers them; he has never quite gotten used to the idea that they aren't really his but the product of a seemingly DNA-changing strain of viral disease. But he's thankful none the less for the perks that come with it; a striking look is an easy bargain. It's the anti-UV foundation he has to put on every day that makes him snarl every morning before.

He exits the bathroom, moving closer to the quiet sloshing sound in the lounge; glancing to see a pair of bare arms and long brown hair dripping down the back of his black leather couch as he puts his steel coloured suit jacket and polished black shoes into the closet. He lets out a frustrated growl.

_She's making a habit of picking people up,_he thinks to himself. _This could be the start of a problem…_

He returns to the lounge; moving around the couch this time with an immediate frown when he spies wavy copper hair and the blue silk wrapped lady in question laid on his white carpet with her fangs in the side of a young girl's thigh; the likes of which is pouting and yelping quietly, her fingers digging into the back of _his_ couch; most likely ruining the fifty year old leather.

"Donna?" He queries.

He gets no reply, watching her throat squeeze gently and her lips lap up stray drops of blood as it misses it's connection with the white carpet. Her hands play with the girl's calf; tracing little patterns as she sucks harder and harder; her large barely concealed breasts heaving against her privately contained frenzy.

It occurs to him that he _should_ get off on watching her. Maybe he's grown old, but it only worries him; maybe makes him a little jealous, even, that her attention isn't reserved just for him anymore.

"Donna." He repeats, firmer as he stands above her. She should know better than to completely ignore him; regardless of how engrossed she is.

An instant eruption of anger flares up in him as he grabs her throat and in a flash of movement his other hand grabs at her waist, turning her to him. She arches her back as he pulls her close. She snarls at him from being stopped mid-feed, her eyes flashing at his as his face darts to the girl.

"Get out, **_now_**." He says roughly. The girl snaps out of her supposed daze, hobbling to gather her clothes before disappearing down the hall in a mass of tangled hair and tanned skin.

She relaxes then, her fangs disappearing and her wild look replaced with a scrutiny as she licks her lips.

"_That_ was mean." She says pointedly, her nails reaching out to scratch slowly at the nape of his neck.

"Stop bringing back strays." He says; an evenness in his voice as his hands tighten around her waist, bringing her back to standing.

"She was pretty. And she offered." She says, her eyebrow twitching in a challenge.

"I'll bet she did. What's wrong with Rachel…? You get bored?"

"Rachel's tired. You know I want to change her soon so… I thought _Misty_ was a nice change of pace."

"Misty…really?" He gives her a disappointed look; until something gains his attention. "Wait a sec…you're changing Rachel? I thought she was a pet?"

"Of course; but she's the best paralegal Pearson Specter has… and she wants to be a lawyer; she could be useful. Plus… she's so darn cute I just can't resist."

"What is it with you and brunettes?" He asks, tempering his frustration through a wave of intrigue.

"I know you how much you like them." She smiles, the devil in her eyes.

"I'm not the one bringing attractive takeout to our _home_. Why don't you ever bring a man back?"

"Because you're the only man I want in this house. And…you know I'd end up wanting to fuck them."

"I'll never understand your fixation; playing with your food." He says, examining her. She barely keeps still long enough for him to look at these days.

"I didn't want it to get your back up. I know how you hate being _second best_." There is sarcasm in her voice that he knows she is playing on.

"You want to stop getting my back up; use a cup once in a while." He says irritably; pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger as he looks down into her eyes which gradually redden as the blood seeps into her system.

It seems to be enough; that steely look in her eye begins to wane.

"I'm sorry, Harvey." She says; her voice lingering as she softens into him, a foot coming between both of his as she pulls his head back with a yank; her tongue trailing the length of his throat leaving a feint blood soaked smear from where her tongue has been. "Forgive me?" She asks. It brings a softness to his eyes, just a flicker before he retaliates, grabbing her hand and gently releasing it from his hair, before his lips find hers; hungry and wanting.

Suddenly he pauses, his eyes spying something on the floor and digs his cell phone out of his pocket speed dialing like he's done it a hundred times; or more specifically; ninety-four times so far.

"I need someone to clean up the carpet. Donna's been fishing again. And make sure the girl walking around is taken care of. I don't want to see her on Channel ten in the morning."

"So… how was work?" She says, coy and wholly aware of the need for a subject change as she traces his jaw with her black polished fingernails.

"I missed you. That was pretty much it."

"I know…but you said I'm not allowed out yet." She says, her faked innocence annoying him for her complete lack _or_ want of understanding in the moment. He sighs.

"Not after the Rachel fiasco; _No_."

"We'll get her changed; and then we can all go back to work like a happy little family." She suggests; a limp attempt at placating him.

"You need to learn how to behave, first." He fires, his eyes flashing.

"Why?" She frowns.

"Because…you're brand new."

"Brand new? Harvey…I'm 39. I read the warning label…" She pushes against him, her slightly bloody hands fisting his shirt.

"Actually, you _were_ 38…but in this world you're still considered young. And as much as I love you; you're skipping out in the day to lure beautiful women to our apartment. You need structure; you can't just suck on any hot peace of ass that waltzes past you on tenth. Are you even wearing contacts when you're out?" He winces slightly at her need to make things messy now that she's joined his side. She's used to be so…neat; organised. Honest.

"Do sunglasses count?" She replies with a playful smile.

"You need to have etiquette. You _used_ to have manners." He lectures.

"I used to have a heartbeat and a higher tolerance to sun, but my blood sucking Boss changed me, or did you forget that one little detail?" She hisses.

Her words cut; but it's not the first time she's made a play for his shortcomings.

"Yeah, I'm starting to wonder if that was a good idea." His finger and thumb pinches the top of his nose; his anger rising once more before he abates it. "Just…don't lose who you are, okay?" He says tenderly; playing with the errant strands of her wavy hair; eliciting a silvery purr from her chest.

"Well…I have you for that." She whispers, her fingers playing with the silk of his tie.

"That's what I'm worried about." He looks at her, concern etching into his face all the way to his bones.

When he'd changed her, firstly he'd had no choice… and he thought it was for the best; the best way to keep her from succumbing to old age and weakness and accidents. He couldn't deal with her being a possible target any longer and she was level headed enough, sharp and sensible in her human life; it should have translated perfectly. But she was still young and feral and impulsive and eager to fuck the world at her own convenience. It had been so long since he'd been like that, lust-driven and impulsive that it was hard to decipher her personality from the animal-like hormones raging through her. Jessica would have his ass when she found out about her latest discretion; if she hadn't already been informed.

"Have you eaten, yet? You look tired." She says, in a flash of the _old_ Donna. It throws him for a second; back to their old routines, with her arms around his neck and a concerned mothering look on her face. But the tempo of movements are wrong; her skin cooler, her eyes danger-filled. He sidesteps her, letting her arms drop to her sides and moves around towards the kitchen counter.

"Well…Harvey?" She repeats, her hands resting on her waist in frustration.

"I'm not hungry." He mumbles, a deadpanned expression as he pulls a bottle of Scotch out of the cupboard and a tumbler to match.

She appears beside him in a flash; her hand clamping over the tumbler as she places a kiss to the smear she left on his neck earlier. "Abstinence doesn't look good on you." She says sharply.

His eyes flick towards her now vivid red orbs and wishes for her old dark browns. "And here you are stopping me from having a drink." He can still see a few freckles through the porcelain sheen of her skin. _It's a minor comfort_. "You used to approve of my restraint." He notes.

"I _used_ to eat eggs for breakfast Harvey. Roll with the punches." She fires at him; then abates it, softening. "It'd be more fun if we did it together," She purrs, sliding herself between him and the countertop. "I'll let you choose." She bribes, her fingers wrapping around the button of his pants.

He looks at her fully, his arms either side of the counter, face hardening. "No." He says, and means it. She snarls, moving away from. At the last moment his hand wraps around hers, pulling her back to him.

"Listen to me **now**; you get to keep Rachel, but you _don't_ get to torture her anymore. Understand?"

"Harvey," She objects, a slight sneer and flame about her as she moves out of his grasp.

He catches her, yanking her arm. "**Do you**…understand?" He says, firmer this time.

"Fine," She says quickly; kissing him fully on the lips, if not a little rougher than usual.

"I only do it because I love you." He whispers, his hand cupping her cool cheek.

"You're such a pussy." She says, rolling her eyes.

He'll settle for that.

* * *

It occurs to him that she needs so much more attention than she used to. He'd never thought about that before; the attention span, the need, the want to do nothing but eat and fuck and eat and play and fuck '_just one more time_'. She used to be able to sit in a corner and read Vogue and he'd have to be the one to gain her attention. Again, she was young. Things could change. He wished they would change a little faster, even if he had all the time in the world.

He shuts a door behind him; padlocking the room from the inside. He turns when he hears her stiffen, an almost shriek covered by a rustle.

"Hey Rach," He says, level and somewhat cordial. He walks over to the young paralegal and frowns. Donna's been in here again; the evidence is stacked up. Rachel is covered in patterns up and down her bare legs…in her own blood no less. And she's shivering, for the little dress she has on. The blanket she had appears to be gone, leaving only a half-eaten sandwich and her double bed with no sheet. The room is windowless save for a small screen on the wall. It was supposed to be an interrogation room for intruders or a panic room, should the Penthouse ever be compromised. But since the _Incident_, and _The Collectives'_ refusal to safeguard Rachel's wellbeing, teamed with Donna's ability to find her anywhere on the planet; Harvey was forced to keep her in the room, until he could teach Donna to behave properly; either that, or until her thirst for fucking everything up around her subdued somewhat. It was unfortunate, what demons poked out when you removed the thin human wrapper. Humans were often the immediate targets; things often became even more dire when the authorities refused to help those who truly needed protection from his kind.

"How are you?" He asks; a slight hint of care in his voice as he looks her over.

"You're kidding me, right?" She spits out, disbelieving and hunched on the bed but eyes looking no less steely at his.

"No. I like you Rach; you're a good person. I am…_sorry_ about this."

"Then please… just let me go, Harvey; let me…_go_." There is a panic, a whimper in her voice. She has one of those faces, child-like with dark eyes and hair and those lips that pucker like a child's that make your heart quiver if it's fortunate enough to be beating.

"I'm sorry Rach; Donna wants you on _our_ team now. And you know I can't help but give her what she wants. You're here for your protection; you know I can't control her out there."

"Please just kill me…or, let me go home, Please, Harvey."

"She won't torture you anymore. I promise you that. She's not allowed to…defy me."

He watches the cogs turn in her head as she stops pleading, lets a tear run down her check and the defeated look wash over her.

"I hope you're right." He face levels; her eyes falling on her bound hands. "She's gone isn't she?"

"No. She'll come back. It just takes time. I'm sorry you got caught up in this." He says, half-heartedly.

"I'm sorry I met you both." She replies.

* * *

Working in the day is frustrating, but necessary. The world turns in the human 9-5 and if the firm is to survive then they have to operate in both worlds. He shuffles in the elevator surrounded by humans and vampire's alike. Humans smell the strongest first; sweet and saccharin with a touch of spice. He used to love the smell; was obsessed with it even in his younger days, but nowadays it only seemed to serve a purpose of longevity; and Harvey Specter is and will always be about surviving: first and foremost.

He walks by his office just to see the weedy Cameron sitting at Donna's desk, a clinical edge to his typing. He spies Harvey and seems to retreat a little. "Uh, Sir, Ms Pearson wants to see you in her office right away."

He says nothing, merely changing his direction and rounding the corner. Jessica is waiting for him; poised on her sofa with that little tea set of hers from the Victorian Era surrounding her.

"Harvey. Sit." She says, gesturing.

"I'd prefer to stand." He replies, shuffling minutely.

He can see by the look on her face that she considers challenging him. He knows that she know better nowadays.

"I heard Donna got out again…" She says, her even tone betraying the edge of condescension.

"It won't happen again." He states, his jaw setting.

The pressure in her voice piques. "I told you that if you decided to turn her there would be consequences; _and_ that you would need to keep a tight lid on it and a _leash_ on **her**."

"I have. She got out; jumped off the roof apparently…I've fixed it now. She won't do it again. " He puts on his best game face, and hopes that his words are solid enough to convince his own doubts.

"It brings the kind of focus to the firm that I can't very well condone. Harvey, you have to look at the bigger picture here. If you can't control her…"

"She's **mine**. Got it?" He says, growling heavily. It's the only topic of conversation that brings out the demon in him.

"I'm not saying that she' isn't. But you need to put security on her whilst she's young. Otherwise, it won't just be her coming back to bite you in the ass, Harvey. This firm is **everything**." Her face softens then; apart from the reprimand, they've all been friends for years, and until the turning, Donna was only ever a hardworking professional asset to the firm. "How is she, generally?" She asks, sipping her tea.

"Impulsive; Headstrong; Vibrant." He says, sighing.

"That sounds like the old Donna to me," She smiles kindly.

"She's also cruel, testing and devious. It's wearing thin." He says; rubbing his hands over his face at the sheer frustration of it all.

"Well, you're just going to have to…suck it up, aren't you?"

He rolls his eyes at the pun, turning his back.

"You know I had no other choice." He calls back to her.

"I'm aware. Don't lose your head over her, Harvey. You've come too far." There is enough warning in her voice to stack up a Trojan horse worth of warnings.

_But he's heard enough of what he already knows for a lifetime._

"Oh and Harvey?" She says, gaining his attention the moment he passes the threshold of her office. It's her habit of controlling at the very point you least expect. "You have a new Associate to hire by the end of the week. Don't forget."

"You realise I'm _also_ the boss here, right?" He points out, his attention waning.

"That may be so, but whilst you're distracted, I'm revoking that privilege… for your own good." She says, an oddly tender execution of her words.

"Wonderful. End of the week?" He subdues the need to growl at her. It would achieve nothing, despite this bad mood he's got going on.

"Get Cameron to help." She notes, pouring another cup.

"I'll do it myself." He counters, subduing another growl.

* * *

I shouldn't be writing this god damn but this idea flew into my head in a day. _Onto Mike…_

Note: I love Stephen Dorff in Blade. There's something so elegant and modern about his portrayal of a new vampire. It helped.

OTHER NOTE: I won't be able to update this AS quickly as rest, maybe an episodic section per week?


	2. Chapter 2

**The Associate - By Atheniandream**

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Mike Ross was ten minutes late for the drop off.

The clock in his head was ticking down the seconds past the deadline. He didn't even bother checking with his watch to solidify that hunch. When he'd said yes to Trevor in the back of his head some small part of his deductive reasoning was shouting out that this was a bad choice; too high of a risk. These days he played within risk; card counting, blind test taking; all with a significantly high, almost calculable risk down to the sixth increment.

But _this_…this was like walking into a level eight storm without so much as rain Mack on.

_A simple drop off_ Trevor had said; to go to the Mercer Hotel, Room 815 at 1.30pm and exchange the case packed with marijuana for twenty five gees. _Simple,_ he said, _Over in a flash._

It was 1.44… and he was now dodging suspected cops on a mere hunch that they knew exactly what he was up to; which meant that he had been walking into a trap from the get-go.

He'd have Trevor's ass if he ever made it out alive.

Luckily, he was dressed as a business worker; a clerk or an assistant to an executive. It was a workable enough disguise; but unless they had a room full of investment bankers at a conference here he was shit out of luck. He spied a double door, jiggling the handle and walked through, shutting it clean behind him.

_Bingo._

As if the ground had opened up and swallowed him with record timing; he was in a waiting room filled door-to-door with suits.

"Rick Sorkin?" A young man calls, looking at him quizzically.

Mike blinks, a second time just for good measure.

"Mister Sorkin? You're late." The young man states, eyes wide, waiting for an excuse.

"Sorry… I got…_lost_?" He replies vaguely, his hand tightening on the briefcase.

The small blonde man stiffens, examining him for a second, before stepping aside. "Well…Mister Specter is waiting for you." He clears his throat, indicating the doors behind him.

He nods, glancing briefly at the other hopefuls for whatever this interview is for. They look vaguely like lawyers, but they could easily be young executives. Whatever field it is he's clearly walking into a shark tank.

He opens the door, and figures it can't get much worse.

"Rick Sorkin?"

When he enters the state room, shutting the door behind him he's confronted with probably the most attractive man he's seen in his entire life. It's the gayest thing he's ever thought, but there's something about this man, tall and impeccably dressed in a three piece, almost chrome coloured suit and silvery blue tie. His hair is slicked back, almost 50's but somehow dawning from the 'Wall street' era. He is chiselled, but beyond his features there is a hard quality, his slightly tanned skin making way for a dark gaze, like he's walked straight out of a Tennessee Williams Novel. There is something flat about this man's gaze.

"Hi… uh, Mister Specter?" He goes to shake the older man's hand. It's the perfect moment for the latch on his briefcase to completely open…._which it does, _the contents falling unceremoniously to the floor with a swoosh, packets fanning out between their feet.

"I…_crap_." Mike mutters under his breath.

"What the….?" Harvey says.

For a second the older man scrutinises him, gradually watching with an interested smirk, that pass his lips briefly. "Little job on the side there, Mr Sorkin?"

"I'm not Rick Sorkin. I was…dodging some undercover cops. It looked like an opening. I took it…"

"Oh. Bold move. Let me uh…help you with that. Wait, how did you know they were undercover?" He asked, helping the kid scoop up his weed.

"Well, they were dressed like bellboys but didn't know what time the pool opened till."

"How did _you_ know what time the pool opened till? Do a lot of hotel fishing I your spare time?" He said, eyeing him with a curiosity as the young man struggled to shut the briefcase.

"My Dad brought me here when I was a kid once," He answered.

"And you just happened to keep that sweet little memory?"

"I… I have a talent for remembering things." Said Mike.

Something wasn't adding up in Harvey's eyes.

"You seem like a vaguely smart guy. Dropping off a ton of weed doesn't seem that smart to me… I'm missing something," He said, leaning up against the desk.

"I needed twenty five grand just to get my Grandmother into assisted care. A friend offered it to me as a one-time deal… I had no other choice. It's a lot of money."

"You know…it is a shame you've never gone to Harvard. I need someone who's not a afraid to go that… _extra mile_."

"What would you say if I said I've passed the bar."

Harvey's taken a back, just for a split second, before straightening.

"I'd say bullshit. How in hell is that even possible?" He asks.

"Some douche dared me that I couldn't pass it." Mike shrugs.

"How did you pass it?" Harvey asks, interested.

"Easy… I studied. _I told you_…I remember things, anything I've read. And once I've read it, I not only remember it, I understand it."

"The quota's getting a little low with the list of pencil necks outside. Hell, I'll give you the twenty five just as a signing bonus. But I need proof."

"Wouldn't you rather take the risk?" Mike said, his eyes levelling to meet the older man's.

He hadn't expected the kid to challenge him on it. Hell, the red flags were there…no diploma from Harvard, a briefcase full of weed, a penchant for cheating...when you stacked them all up he sounded like the worst choice. But somehow there was a feeling in his gut big enough to press a little more.

"Okay…fire up that laptop. Let's see how much you know. I've actually _been_ to Harvard."

* * *

Ten minutes later a head peeks out into the waiting room, Cameron typing on his laptop. He spies the face and immediately stands to attention.

"Cameron; send them all home. I've found us our new Associate." Harvey says, before closing the door once more. He flicks his briefcase open, taking out of it a small contraption, a form and a pen.

"First things first, sign _that_." He says, placing the form down in front of Mike.

"What is this?" He asks.

"It's a gag. What I'm about to tell you, you cannot tell anyone or speak about it with anyone unless you are **strictly** permitted to. It's a simple gag, usually formalities apply. Read it if you want to, but if you sign that, then from this moment on any breach of the terms on that piece of paper will not only land you in jail, it will land you six feet below that."

"Wow… that's sounding less appealing by the second."

Like the room had all the air sucked out of it, the look on the man's face put him off more than the idea that he could still get turned over to the cops today...

"Trust me… if you want in, **I can get you in**. Think of it as… you trading your secrets for ours."

"As in…?"

"Sign the damn gag." Harvey orders, holding the pen out.

He wasn't sure what put the pen in his hand to the paper. There was just… something about the man. Minus his bossy attitude.

He scribbles quietly and watches as Harvey takes it, placing it into a plastic envelope and back into the briefcase. He watches as he then takes the contraption, like a syringe, and flicks the end.

"Roll up your right sleeve." He commands.

"Excuse me?" Mike blinks, frowning.

"It's a blood test." He divulges.

"Oh… that's odd. You need a urine sample to?" He jokes, a giddy feeling overcoming him.

"H.R deals with that…this is…_something else_. You don't smoke any of that…right?" He says, indicating to the briefcase.

"Maybe… occasionally?" He eyes Harvey, guarded once more.

"Well from now on you don't. And ditch whatever friend got you into this mess; you're gonna meet enough low lives in your new job; more than enough to deal with. Well?"

Mike complies, rolling up his sleeve. He's completely intrigued by this being the first call of order. _What has he gotten himself into?_

The so-called syringe releases a needle into his vein. It hurts like hell, even though it starts to numb as the blood is slowly taken, appearing at the end in a tiny vile. When it's finished, Harvey untwists the vile and places both vile and the syringe thingy back into the briefcase. Mike looks down at where the needle went in, noticing that Harvey didn't apply pressure afterward, and that the little hole was not only devoid of any blood, but also not even there.

"What the..." He said, rubbing at his arm, before slowly rolling down his sleeve.

"Come with me," He merely says, making his way out of the room.

He grabs his coat and follows Harvey Specter out onto the street, where a large black limo is waiting.

"Wow, this company really rides in style."

"Well… I am the _Boss_." He replies, nodding to the small Indian man in a crisp suit who gets into the car with a wink.

"So…you gonna tell me what's going on? What's with all the mystique?" Mike asks, feeling the thick black leather as he tries to get comfortable.

"My name is Harvey Specter. I'm the co- managing partner of Pearson Specter, one of the largest law firms in New York. Not only are we lawyers for some of the biggest names in Manhattan, but we also deal with the biggest companies too. And not only the biggest companies but also the clients that you don't see, and don't ever care to look for."

"What does that mean?" Mike asks, nerves really starting to set in.

"It means, Mike Ross, that although you may think you're a risk taker, this job… will be _all about_ risk."

"This is all sounding very cloak and dagger…could you cut to the chase?"

"Have you ever seen a vampire, Mister Ross?"

* * *

"So wait…I'm sorry, I'm not really a fantasy kind of guy; more into my science fiction and action kind of genres. You said… Vampires? Wait, where are we going?" He asks, noticing that the Limo is suddenly in motion.

Harvey smirks slightly. There's something which causes a shiver to rise in Mike's throat. "The best way to describe; is to show you. And to make you understand truly what you have gotten yourself in for, we are going back to my home."

"That's great… but this is all starting to sound a little too weird." Mike says, a little skitter in his tone, betraying his nerves.

"Just trust me. The world I'm about to show you, it happens all around you every day. But getting you to understand; none of those people would compromise the truth in the face of the public._ I_ just happen to have _full accessible proof_. And once you've seen that proof, I'll explain more. I need someone who is brave, thinks outside the box, and who is a risk taker but someone who _also_ truly understands what the real risks are. You'll be shadowing me and sometimes… my work is…_in the grey_. But…before you do… that little box over there?" he says, indicating to a small box on one of the long seats. "Open it."

He looks at him with disbelief, but quietly shuffles to the other seat to open what looks like a jewellery box. He's right as he opens the black velvet box and spies a silver watch inside, his face full of questions when he looks back to Harvey.

"It's…going to protect you." He explains. "Put it on. The strap is adjustable."

He places the watch on, with a large deep blue face and gold dials. "It's a little…jazzy, don't you think?" He says, screwing up his nose.

"Says the kid wearing the skinny tie… _It's mine_. I'll explain later. Shall we?" He gestures.

With perfect timing, they end up outside a huge up-market apartment block. Harvey gets out; sauntering into the lobby as Mike slowly follows behind him; the Limo moving away almost the moment he's got the door shut.

He walks into a glass lobby, following as Harvey walks past two guards who nod in perfect unison.

"Has she been checked in the past hour?" He asks the first guard.

"Yes Sir. Every hour on the hour." The guard replies, keeping his eyes straight.

"And she hasn't…brought anyone..?" He asks.

"No one has entered or exited the building since you, Sir."

"And the safe room?" Harvey questions the guard once more.

"She's been locked out of there, Sir; on your strict order."

"Good. That'll be all." He says. The guards don't move, even though Harvey said that would be all, which in common sense terms seems rather odd to Mike.

It occurs to him that there are a lot of words not being said, a lot inferred and the avoidance of a very big topic in the world he seems to be dipping a toe into. Not to mention his house is being guarded, which spells a certain kind of danger that doesn't seem to occur everyday..._surely? _His attention goes to the watch, which is heavy and slides cumbersomely up and down his wrist. He follows Harvey as he enters an elevator, swiping a card as it starts to move up the floors, the numbers counting up with a rhythm.

He's not too shocked to discover that he's arrived at the penthouse. It's enormous, like those places you only see in movies.

"Donna," Harvey calls into the large, seemingly empty room.

All of a sudden a red headed woman appears in front of him. It knocks him for six, because she seemed to just speed down the stairs. He reaches back, as if he's dodging her crashing into him, even after she's stopped. "What the…?" He says, his hands coming out in front of him at the sheer shock of her presence.

"Mike Ross…this is Donna Paulsen." Harvey says.

He's immediately aware of her very fluid nature, but more so the sharp red of her irises. For a second it's like his eyes are playing tricks on him, until they focus on the wanton look on her face and all the blood seems to sink past his dick and to his feet.

_Are those contacts?_

"Did you bring him for _me_...?" She asks Harvey, her alarming gaze darting towards him once more until she stops, a small frown line appearing on her pale face. "What the… is this a joke? Silver? You're just trying to piss me off today, aren't you? What's with the hourly-watch, too?" Her face sharpens as she backs away a little.

"Donna, Mike is my new associate. He's _not_ a happy meal. You are not under any circumstances to bite him…is that clear? And if you didn't keep goign out, I wouldn't need to monitor you," His words are stern, but his face is soft towards her.

"Why is he _here_?" She says, making a face.

"Do me a favour, could you go put on something…less revealing…and hustle. For me?" He says, reaching out for her, a hand finding her hair and scratching her a little. Almost like a dog. It's a strange gesture for such a striking and seemingly grown up woman.

It hadn't even occurred to him she was actually wearing a nightgown; peach and almost entirely see-through, until Harvey had pointed it out.

"Fine." She says, her eyes lingering on Mike's. That should have had him out of the door, but before he can take a breath she's sped up the stairs and back down them in less than one second. And she's now dressed completely differently, in jeans and a camisole top.

"What the…?" Mikes, says, the words eluding him.

"Donna is…**a** **vampire**." Harvey states as Donna sidles up next to him, her eyes still on Mike.

"What the…?" He repeats.

"You want me suck the air out of your brain, Michael?" Donna offers, smirking. For a second, he see thinks he sees fangs, until he definately does when she shows them to him for good measure in a full grin.

"Donna…" Harvey warns; a steely glance at her.

"I'm kidding! But I'm still hungry." She grumbles, and folding her arms.

"Mike is _not_ on the menu." He says firmly.

"Shame… _he's cute_. Like a little puppy," She purrs, almost, her lips pursing together.

"Donna, could you give us a sec?" He asks, gently.

"Sure." She rolls her eyes, casually wandering away to sit at the sofa, but not before glancing pointedly at Mike.

"I… vampire?" Mike asks; a hushed tone as he turns to him.

"She's new…we're not all like that. But some are."

"New? What…did you turn her?" He snorts; a joke on his lips.

"It's a…long story." He sighs, frowning.

_It appears that it's not a joke…_

"So… okay, this is all a bit much…"

"That's just the tip of the iceberg, kid."

"I feel like you're missing things out." He has an overwhelming urge to glance over at Donna once more, who he can feel is still staring at him.

"Sit," He says, gesturing to the dining table. "There are eight factions of Vampires in the world. We are the second. Or the first, depending on whom you ask. Our company works for both human and vampire clients. Now, the human, you can probably deal with. That's just information, strategy and guile. But the vampire side is…_much more complicated_. I should have picked a vampire for the job but…I prefer humans. They have better impulses, and aren't clouded as much by sex or finding food whilst on the job," He says, inferring the lounging Donna in the background.

"So…you're a Vampire, too?" Mike asks.

"What makes you say that?" He says sharply.

"You may not have red eyes, but there is something very _different_ about you,"

"Well… that's why I hired you. You're intuitive…and clearly you have an advantage but…this world is different. It is full of violent, empowered, lust worthy individuals who will try to kill you or eat you or torture you. Like humans there are gradients in our society; some clients are tax paying solid individuals who place monthly orders with the blood bank. And some…are trophy hunters, thieves and terrorists. We work both in and between the two worlds and sometimes we have to get our hands dirty. That watch there," He gestures to the watch. "That watch will give you a head start."

"So all the myths are true?" He asks, the words almost falling out of his mouth.

"Only sunlight; _prolonged exposur_e and silver genuinely work. The rest is bullshit. The silver poisons our blood; we do not under any circumstances turn to dust, but it does boil us like a piece of bacon. Prolonged light exposure with drain us, and eventually we go into an anaphylactic shock and then die. You need to know these things, as you will be challenged."

"Wait, if you're in the penthouse…what do you do about all the..._light_?" he asks ironically, glancing at the huge greenhouse they appear to be sat in.

"Tinted windows with UV filter." Harvey replies simply.

"And that works?"

"_Those_ work. We have to wear…certain things to keep us normal looking and protect us from the sun's intensity when we're out. Obviously the poorer or more morally ambiguous don't come out into the day as they don't have access to the technology, or simply...don't like the human way of life."

"But you do?"

"It's nessesary for modern living." He shrugs.

"So... your eyes _aren't_ brown, then?"

_Things seem to be making the strangest kind of sense._

"No…and **no**, I'm going to show you. Now, you'll be monitored; if you tell anyone about anything I've told you, you may well be killed, or placed in no jail that your parents can ever find you. And I won't be able to help with that if that happens." He warns.

"Oh, no need to worry, they're both dead." He shrugs, completely leaving out his meddling Grandmother.

"Mine too. Well, that's all you need to know for now. Be at _this_ address," He says, pulling out a business card, which is also chrome. "At 7.30 on Monday. If you don't turn up, then I'll consider that you've changed your mind. You will be monitored for a few weeks after, should that be your choice." He says, standing.

"Right. Um…I guess I better go." He says, also standing. "Uh...Bye Donna." He's not sure why he felt the need to call her name. _Something about formality…or fear._ He isn't surprised to see her head turn quickly as she gives him a wicked, almost predatory smile.

"Bye little puppy. Leave the watch at home next time…'k?"

"Oh and Mike..?" Harvey interrupts, ignoring the redhead.

"Yeah?"

"Get a suit. One that is not horrendous. You do have standards to maintain, you know." He glares at the young man.

"Right sure." He replies, dazed as he walks to the elevator.

He is confused when Harvey appears behind him in a flash, swiping that plastic thing into the console once more.

"Oh of course...the...okay. Bye." He says, jumping into the elevator.

* * *

Out on the sidewalk, Mike Ross is completely lost. He'd just been told that all the Bela Lugosi movies were actually real. Blade was real. And seemingly…Twilight was also real…_to a fashion _and minus all the glitter_. _He watched silently as people milled past him in the usual busy pace that New York offered.

_How was he supposed to pick them out?_

Harvey had something… a quality, a suave intensity. But what was to say that that was just an inherent personality trait? Donna seemed…fluid, carnivorous and charged with a kind of sexuality that he'd only ever seen in porn. But was a super speed all they had? Surely that meant strength too? Was that door threshold thingy true as well? There were so many questions floating around in his blood-pumping head. Did that mean that Public houses and official buildings were now the most dangerous places to be?

And on top of it all…he couldn't tell a soul... _**dead or alive**_.

He was starting to wonder if this was all a terrible idea.

But he was in; with the big man at the top, no less. Perhaps it was the safest place to be…even if he was now a _walking happy meal_.

The city suddenly looked completely different in the harsh light of day.

* * *

The moon glared across the mezzanine, catching the side of his face as he leant against the rail on the balcony. It had been a long two weeks. When he looked back to three weeks before, everything had been perfect. He'd had beautiful, intelligent human girlfriend who understood what he was and what he wasn't, he was at the height of his career; he didn't have to worry about a thing. Now he had a human associate posing as a pretend lawyer - picked by his own impulsive hand - a girlfriend who went from the doting version of her former self to a serial killer in less than sixty seconds because of what _he_ had done, and the control of his own firm hatched in half by his former boss-turned partner.

Things were….strained, to say the least.

He sighed against the slight breeze, his hand coming over the side of his face.

A hand pulled it back, her eyes glowing against the moonlight. "Hey." She said; her voice peeling.

"What?" He said, irritated. It was so annoying having to be the adult with her, like she was a petulant little girl he'd just adopted.

"You look tired. You need some sleep." She says, her voice smooth as silk.

"I never need sleep." He shrugs her off.

"Yeah you do...come on," She says, ignoring his quiet objection and takes his hand, tugging slightly.

"Donna…I,"

"No buts; Bed." She orders, turning into him as she continues to lead him through the automatic doors; hearing the swoosh of the door shut as she pulls him to the bed. He shakes his head when she delicately flips him onto his back, the mattress bending slightly against their combined weight.

"Donna," He growls, low and rumbling in his chest, a reaction assuming that her libido is ruling her head again. He's suspects as much when she sucks his ear into her mouth, until she stops. She looks down at him, a building frustration inside her as her eyes turn to glowing orbs of red-tinged light. He thinks that she's going to make her move, pounce even, until she settles next to him, her fingers pulling out his shirt from his pants and her hand settling on the hard flesh of his stomach.

"Sleep. You think too much." She says, placing a kiss to his cheek before nestling against him.

It's like a little glimmer of her former self; a small wistful hope for the future.

_And en_ough, he realises to lull him to sleep for an hour or two.

Tomorrow could very well be a _new day_.

* * *

Please feed, love to hear what you think. It's nice writing something with a bit more room for variation in it! AXxX


	3. Chapter 3

Mahoosive thanks to everyone who's reviewed. I am so bad at the Law-side of writing, so it's been on the shelf for a while whilst I add actually law-driven plot. Should be quicker with the next chapter.

* * *

**The Associate**

**Chapter Three – 'The Deep End'**

* * *

"Now I don't want to have to tell you one more time, Mr Krantz; the lease is up on this here establishment," Harvey says, pointing vaguely to the air around him. "And because of that, my client has all the right to request the contracts be put back into their name and the keys handed over immediately."

"But I had a verbal agreement," The man objects, a crinkle running into his powdery suit.

"There's no proof of that. But there is proof of you not paying your rent for the last 6 months. Now, that would be fine if this was a little condo on 5th, but the rent totalled up to nine hundred thousand American dollars, Mr Krantz."

"Business has been slow…" The man shrugs non-committally.

"Ah, and by business you mean the little upmarket brothel you've got going here… on the side?" He explains; a collection of photos fanning out on the desk in front of the man. "Something with a little extra human kink just for good measure?"

"I can get the money, I just need a week. One week." He man assures him; glancing at the guard in the corner with a wince.

"This is an economy Mr Krantz. And as you can't make the rent by solely legitimate means, then I'm afraid that means that your time is up…just sign the damn contract." There is a hardness, a sharpness that just peaks out in his voice, the mere insinuation of 'vampire' about him.

He watches the man slowly pucker, his shoulders slump heavily as he picks up the pen with a wedge of reluctance, his eyes flashing liquid metal.

A smirk appears on Harvey's face as he scoops up the contract, gesturing to the guard to open the door before turning back to the man sitting.

"You have twenty four hours to remove yourself from the building, and then we will cease any and all items remaining including yourself. Pack fast Mr Krantz."

* * *

His face tilts towards the metres upon metres of shiny glass panelling that stretches into the New York Skyline.

_Trust Harvey Specter to have a company inside one of the largest buildings in Manhattan, _he thinks.

It takes Mike about a half hour to park his bike before he is confronted with the intense security in the lobby; hundreds of people going about their day, milling past him with purpose and intent. He gains a visitor's pass even though it's his first day, and is pointed to the various lifts beyond the barriers.

It's a strange sense, being squished in against twenty people with a vacuum packed intensity, all shifting before and after each floor, the moisture in the air building against the puffs of stale air-conditioning as the doors open. It occurs to him, the idea that he could literally be the pastrami in a New York vampire sandwich. He glances at people around him, no one seeming out of the ordinary, dressed in suits and skirts and immaculate hair. He feels the moisture building on the inside of his shirt, pulling at his collar. Two pairs of eyes flick with a precision towards him; two very flat blue eyes.

A shiver runs down his back. He ignores the gaze of the man staring at him, concentrating on the upward motion.

And of course he's meant to go all the way to the top. _It figures._

When the doors finally open on the floor, people mill out with him and he sees the large gold lettering on the wall reading 'Pearson Specter'. There's something hard and concrete about the name, something set in stone and imposing about it. He wanders into the lobby, the entire space filled wall to wall with glass partitions.

"Mike Ross?"

He turns round to see a small, slight young man, maybe even younger than him with a light blonde crew cut and a wide eyed glare, like this man is almost always scared. His eyes catch to his wrist, and the silver watch hanging around it.

_Human._

"Yes?"

"I'm Cameron. Come this way." He ushers, skipping formalities and almost darts down the hall. It takes Mike a quick step to keep up with the little guy. "Mr Specter will be back soon, we need to get you to human resources before he returns."

_Somehow the idea of human resources seems wrong in the context..._

Suddenly it occurs to Mike that this guy is more than scared, he's downright uptight.

"Don't I get a tour?" He asks.

"This isn't Disneyland, Mr Ross." He throws over his shoulder.

After a lengthy and boring list of forms for him to sign he's led in to what he's told is the 'bull pit', "The land for which all associates will battle," Cameron says, an almost geeky thrive about the words.

It makes Mike take an instant disliking to the guy. And people call him a Nerd…

"And here is your desk." The young man says.

Before Mike has a minute to look around he is pushed in the other direction. "What the,"

"We're late." Cameron says, darting in front. They move up a floor to an almost identical one, moving past office after office until Cameron stops in front of a large corner office, and nips into the cubicle in front. He spies the man himself, standing by the window as Cameron glares at him to enter.

"Mr Ross." Harvey says, his eyes not leaving the skyline as looks out of the large windows.

The office is huge, almost entirely silver, glass and steel, the desk large and square with a black netted chair behind it and the entire of Manhattan around two walls of large windows. But when you looked closer, there were warm touches like the large leather couch with a thick wool rug underneath; a window sill lined with autographed basketballs, and monochrome stucco paintings on the walls. The most defining feature was the large bookcase stacked with records and the high-tech record player. Very nouveau fifties meets Wall Street.

"You okay there?" Harvey says, watching the young man wander slightly between his desk and the leather couch.

"This is… a great office."

"This is the best office. But that's not why you're here. What are you wearing?" Harvey frowns, his lip turning up in an almost sneer.

"Uh… a suit?" Mike says, looking down somewhat confused as he checks he's not forgotten his tie.

Harvey suddenly throws a business card at him, which is nearly misses catching.

"Go to that address now…and buy a suit. A proper one. You're a representation of this firm, and right now you look like shit."

"Whoa. Harsh Suit critic… okay," He says, idly looking at the address. "Wait this is all the way across town?" He whines, taking in the long ride he has.

"Just go. And burn that thing. I don't want to see that so-called 'suit' in my office again." He says, pointing to the offending suit.

Mike Ross doesn't need to be told twice.

* * *

Two hours later he wanders out of a private retailer in the sharpest thing he now has in his wardrobe, having had his suit snatched away from him by the snooty and definitely human salesman who probably discarded with a ritual to cleanse it of what he now understands as 'horrific hemline and seam work', he makes his way back to work post haste.

As he climbs the elevator, his silver watch still hanging on his skinny wrist, he notices the very tall, dark skinned woman to his left. She's tall and slender, with thick dark brown hair coming down in a perfect wave on one side of her face. She's wearing power heels and a dynamic charcoal dress that seems to shimmer slightly. Her features are large, like there's not enough space on her face to have such big eyes and full lips in the midst of a slender, almost noble looking nose breaking it all up.

He feels it then, the thrum of danger as her eyes flick to his. They are oddly flat and black, unnatural against her creamy, almost coffee coloured skin.

_Vampire._

He wants to say 'hi', maybe even introduce himself, but the way she looks at him, as if he's taking all the air of the room unnecessarily – air she wouldn't even need by the way – makes him want to sink into the floor before she can sink her teeth into him.

The doors open, and she saunters out into the hall before he's even got time to let out the breath he's holding. He's thankful she doesn't look back as he follows her down the hall.

"Good, you're here." Harvey's voice calls behind him, ushering him to follow his fast footing down the hall.

"Yeah. Where are we going?"

"Just follow me. You had the tour?"

"No, I uh…"

"Then you'll just have to find your way around."

"So, what. What are we doing?" Mike asks.

With that, Harvey plants the file he was carrying into his hands.

"Why don't you take a read?"

It only takes Mike a minute to read the entire case, before he snaps the folder shut.

"A Class Action?" He confirms. He's rusty on the practical side of law.

"Bane Enterprises is being sued against fifteen of it's previous employees,"

"It says here because of an outbreak of a rare blood disorder linked to Porphyria? Really?" Mike queries.

In a flash, Harvey pushes him into a nearby conference room shutting the door.

"Now. I told you that my work…_is in the grey_. Bane Enterprises is one of our chief developers of protective living technologies; also known as 'P.L.T's'."

"As in they…?"

"Develop the technologies that keep Vampires in mainstream society. Everything I use; contacts, UV sunscreen; even the technology that lets my apartment function is branded and created by Bane."

"So, if this is an 'internal' problem, can't you make it just… go away?"

"It's not that easy. There are people; humans, out there who know our secrets; these fifteen; they are being supported by an organisation whose chief objective is to expose us as a community and bring us down. They're claiming that the company infected these people, after they resigned."

"So you want me to prove that they didn't?"

"No. I want you to prove that they were infected before they resigned."

"How is that going to win the case? Changing when it happened doesn't get them off the hook for being infected in the first place?"

"You have a lot to learn." Harvey says, gesturing for Mike to follow.

"Where are we going?"

"_To the source_."

* * *

The car ride dropped them off somewhere in Garment District; a seemingly Industrial building; square, solid and raw.

Mike watches as Harvey walks up to the steel door, placing his hand on the a stainless steel panel, as it lights up in red and yellow. Suddenly, the doors retreat automatically, lights flashing down a long silver hallway.

"Shall we?" Harvey gestures to the young man.

"What is this place?" Mike mumbles to himself as he follows Harvey.

The corridor is long and winding, nothing on the walls or even the ceiling save for strip lighting. Eventually they get to another door, same security system, which opens to a mess of glass rooms, and white under-lit floors and white glaring ceilings. People mill past, in various speeds, dressed in white coats and goggles. It's a strangely cliché room, something out of blade or one of those low budget vampire 'b movies' of the last decade.

"Mr Specter," A man appears beside them, dressed in a dark charcoal suit and slicked back black hair.

"Kendridge; It's been a while. This is my associate, Mike Ross." Harvey says, shaking the man's hand. Mike holds his his hand out, until the man looks down and spies the watch, retreating slightly. He flusters, holding out his other hand, to which the man rolls his eyes.

"I assume you've been briefed on the matter?" The man says to Harvey.

Mike's hand scratches at the silver wrist watch dangling on his skinny arm.

"Yes." Harvey says simply. It's a strangely oversimplified answer, considering the situation at hand, but somehow the dark haired man seems to understand it.

"Come with me." He says, leading them further into the complex.

The finally reach a room, not unlike the others and Mike spies three people on dentist chairs, with what appear to be doctor's all around them. They appear human enough, wriggling and unsure of their surroundings, until one doctor injects the supposed patient with something and they fall back limply.

"What the," Mike says as the words fall out. He spies Harvey look around at him, and he shuts his mouth immediately.

Unfortunately, the man in front, Kendridge hears the words all too clearly. "Before you cast aspersions Mr Ross, the infection in question is a weapon. A weapon created by _your_ kind. It appears that mankind has created it's own problem."

"Wait. So these employees,**_ you_** didn't make them sick?"

"No, we did. Unknowingly, when having them study the samples. We know what it does to us, we learnt that the hard way, and justice doesn't even record our casualties. However, we had no idea what it would do to humans when we employed them to study it."

"Did they know that you aren't responsible? That humans are?"

"No. The admittance of such would start a war we're not quite ready to fight yet; but a war _is coming_, Mr Ross. As Mr Specter here knows all too well..."

"Do we know where the virus came from?" Harvey asks, his eyes still trained on the three humans in the distance.

"Not yet. We assume the government...but the exact origin is difficult to track down. Maybe Japan, maybe Texas. Tracing it is going to take time, and it's time that those people don't have."

"And you don't have a cure? At least for the humans?" Harvey asks.

"Not yet. It's an incredibly complex strain of disease."

"What does it do?" Mike asks. A shiver runs down his spine as the two men's gazes land solidly on him. "I mean…to humans…"

"Follow me." The man says.

As if they can't get any further into the complex, the man leads them to an elevator, gesturing for them to get inside. It's a weird feeling, standing between these two men. He likes Harvey, but there is something so...dangerous about being in the company of these two men in a square metal box. He assumes that it's just his instincts kicking in; a reflex to being prey of sorts. The elevator is smooth and fast, and he has an idea that they're going far, far underground. He notices Harvey sneak a glance at him, causing him to straighten almost immediately.

"You okay?" He asks gruffly, frowning at the young kid.

"Yeah, I'm...fine…" Mike frowns.

"You look pale."

"Isn't that a little 'kettle and pot' even for you?" Mike states, the irony setting in his face. He has a feeling he's overstepped the mark, until Harvey smirks at him.

"I'm not pale. I'm… _handsome_." He says.

"Is that what you tell all the girls?" Mike snorts. _This guy is an arrogant..._

"Just you," He counters.

"Touche."

When the doors open, they are presented with box room upon box room, all neatly lined up under more strip lighting. They follow the man until he stops in front of a cubicle.

A shiver runs down his back.

There is a man inside, laid on a stretcher in the corner of the room, white as sheet, save for large pink and red legions peppering his body. There seems to be a UV light in the corner, making the man's teeth a stark yellow colour as they all but illuminate the room.

"How far along is the infection?" Asks Harvey, his eyes sharpening.

"11 days." Kendridge replies. "It's acting a lot like Gunther's Disease; similar to a Congenital erythropoetic porphyria. It's adapting to his blood type and dna code in a way we've not quite gotten our heads around."

"If this is what it does to humans, what the hell does it do to vampires?" Mike asks. The wave of silence in the room tells him enough, let alone the blanched faces he finds staring at him.

"It boils us..." Kendridge sneers at Mike. "Into a soup."

"Is that what it's going to do to this guy?" He asks.

"Eventually. It's just… slower for humans. Vampires have more blood in their bodies, for obvious reasons. Here you can see it searching out the blood drop by drop. If enough people are infected, and vampires feed off of the infected, I believe we have an epidemic on our hands." Kendridge say grimly.

"So the humans are…?" Mike asks,

"Infecting their own kind, in order to get rid of us." Harvey says, the dull reality of the truth setting in. "And they're using us as the scapegoats."

It really was a war, Mike thought.

_What had he gotten himself into?_

* * *

When they exit the building, Mike is still full of questions.

"Okay, just so I'm clear, we - humans - made a strain of a disease, that affects blood, in order to get rid of vampire kind. However, we either don't care or know that it's also deadly to us, and we're using you as a reason to spread this disease far and wide, and using a lawsuit to cover that fact up?" Mike clarifies, watching Harvey as he dials his driver.

"That appears to be the brunt of it, yeah."

"It's a bit much, don't you think?"

"This is a war. Political, environmental, whatever name you give it, it is a war. Two hundred years ago you could eradicate a nation if you had a big enough army. Today, the world is wrapped up in formality. The war has to be silent."

"So, what do we do?" He asks.

"Rule one of law; settle before it goes to court. However, the snag in the lining is that the employees didn't know that they would get infected and that means Bane was liable to pay damages. The problem, is that these people are being treated in mainstream healthcare."

"What do we do?"

"We need to settle an agreement and then contain the situation before fifteen infections becoming fifteen dead..._or more_."

"That's not a lot of time on the clock,"

"Means we need to act fast. Better get your running shoes on."

* * *

He can't sleep. The light floods into the bedroom; Donna beside him in a pool of silk, her hair fire-lit in the cold glow of the moon. She's missing something. He can't put his finger on it; she stunning, and silhouetted in a film-noir setting, not a breath coming out of her…

And then he realises.

_That's the problem. Not a breath..._

He finds himself lingering outside the safe room, pushing in the code, he waits for the door's lock to disengage before walking through.

Rachel is asleep, out of it considering she's been living in fear of Donna for the past two weeks. He skirts around the bed, his eyes trained on the tangled sheets around her feet, the noisy air conditioning fan in the ceiling. He almost feels sad for her, being kept here against her will, prey to a shrewd predator that used to be her best friend. He feels the tinge of distant remorse for his actions. But he wasn't to know. How could he have foreseen that…

Lately nothing seems to have planned out as it should have...

He sits on a chair next to the bed, his eyes stark in the low lighting of the room.

He watches her chest, the uneven breath flowing through her body; her pronounced lips pouting as she breathes through what little gap her lips make. She has a blush on her tanned slightly sweat sheened cheeks; her hair slightly fluffy against the one pillow she has.

There's part of him that wants to reach out and touch her; run his hands down her breasts and feel her heartbeat, feel her heart and the blood pumping vicariously through it; hear that little flutter, that rustle inside their bodies that until this moment,

He didn't know he missed.

She stirs suddenly, making him realise that he's sat on the bed, looking down at her. He must have drifted towards her without even thinking. It happens sometimes, the guttural desire of a beating heart and pretty face. It can make you act without the hindsight to temper your actions. He'd gotten so good at abating it, at lessening the need, especially when Donna became ensconced in his life.

But Donna wasn't human anymore.

She wasn't there to temper it. To remind him of his unique standpoint.

He'd forgotten all about the need.

Her eyes open, blurry and sleep laden. When her eyes find his she starts to jolt back away from him, until his hand comes around her wrist.

"It's okay Rach. I'm…not going to hurt you."

Her expression is hard, like he's asinine, her hand stiffening as he holds it.

"Are you going to kill me?" She asks, delicately. There's something in her face that doesn't seem as scared by him as she seems with anyone else, despite her question.

"No Rachel. I'm not. I told you, you're safe with me." He says and means it.

"Then why won't you let me go?" Her words weaken as she lets out a slight whimper.

"I…I really want to." He says, sighing artificially, the heart beat in her wrist thrumming under his fingers like a lulling beat.

"Then just do it."

He sits back, his hand still clamped around hers. "You know… I've always had a soft spot for you, Rachel."

"Harvey…" She refuses, shaking her head.

When her hand comes out to touch his face, it stops him dead in his tracks, her chipped nail varnish running over his hard face.

"Why is she not like you?" She asks, leaning back against the alarming glow of his eyes.

"Because she's young, and she was made when she was in a lot of pain. It must have… encouraged a fury in her."

"Do you miss the human her?" She asks. For a moment it feels like she cares about his answer.

"More than you know,"

He's forgotten the allure of his kind, until she starts to lean forward slowly, her pupils dilating. It's innate; their ability to cloud their prey, like a cuttlefish; their eyes flashing them into a daze, drawing them close like a magnet.

"There's something good in you. I can't explain it but there is." She suddenly says, her free hand tracing his face very lightly, her eyes wary as the impulse strikes her to cup his cheek.

"Rachel," He all but groans, wincing ever so slightly at the feeling of her fingers. It's been so long since he's been near a beating heart. His eyes flicker to the bite mark on her neck, a parting gift of the run-in she'd had with a new-born Donna, a reminder to never ever darken his door again. The pulse drummed near her clavicle, betraying the thready inhale of breath as her long, dark and curled eyelashes flutter around her almost black eyes.

Before he knew what he wanted to do his hand brought her wrist to his mouth; resisting the impulse for his teeth to sink into her flesh like a knife in butter. He raises the hand, turning it over with his own to place a kiss to it; the veins quivering beneath her thin tanned flesh. She lets out a slight moan of her own, light and airy. He can almost hear the arousal flooding in and out of her.

It took all of his might not to bite down hard, like she was a mozzarella ball.

"Harvey," She whispers, her breasts heaving.

He places her hand back down, before his lips graze hers; his teeth gently playing as he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, eliciting a little cry to come out of her as she leans even further into him, her hands finding his naked chest and the hard muscles that lay there. He kisses her fully then, her hot tongue and breath mingling with his faint forced huff. The tension that he'd buried suddenly flaring up inside him, his hand finding her neck, pulling her closer towards him as she moans into his mouth. His lips train against her jaw, slipping under to where she swallows as she leans her head back; a flurry of kisses leading him to the strong tight muscle of her throat, the sound of her blood sloshing in her body lighting the fire to the predator in him.

"DO it." She suddenly says, her breath coming in short gasps.

It was the one defining difference between him and the rest of them.

He darted to the edge of the room leaving her on the bed in shock.

"I can't. It's not who I want to be. I'm sorry." He says hurriedly, confused by his own actions as he makes vaguely for the door.

"Harvey," She says, snapping out of the daze she didn't even know she'd been in. "I,"

"I'll try and get you out of here, Rach. Just…hold on a little longer." He says with a tight grimace, before the door shuts behind him.

As he wanders into the bedroom,

_There she is._

Oblivious to his actions.

It made it all the more twisted what he had done.

He slept in a lounger on the balcony for the rest of the evening, until the sun peaked through the clouds. He showered the moment he got up, eradicating every bit of evidence of the girl that he could have on him.

* * *

'Whatever you've done just bury it

We'll swim back down to the ocean bed

And find the secret place where we buried those bones' – Stateless 'I'm on Fire'

* * *

Hopefully another chapter next week.


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